There is a Light That Never Goes Out
by Blackbirdox
Summary: "To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die." Or four times Arthur had to watch Eames die.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or anything associated with it. I'm just playing in the sandbox, so to speak. **

**A/N: The title and inspiration for this comes from The Smith's song of the same name. I had intended to make it five sections rather than four but I decided I preferred it shorter. I just hope it's not too short for your liking. Any and all reviews are appreciated! **

I.

It's only Arthur's third job, the first he's worked under such hostile conditions. He's never been in this deep or under this long and Cobb keeps swearing and panicking and shooting at things and Arthur is just trying to keep his cool the best that he can. He doesn't know what to do so he's essentially useless in the face of the projections, hostile and violent and unexpected- because no one had even bothered to explain to Arthur that they could turn on them like this- so he just runs, clutching his gun tightly as he ducks behind a corner.

Eames, their forger, is already there, grunting with effort as he reloads his gun- the kind that looks more suited for military use- and cocks it, hoisting it up onto his shoulder. "Move," he orders sharply, suddenly all business, and Arthur's eyes widen slightly as he steps out of the way.

Shots ring out from both sides of the wall and shells clink against the concrete as they fall and then there's the sound of a loud groan that comes from his left, from Eames, and Eames doubles over, gasping as his free hand darts up to cover his abdomen.

Arthur can see the blood through his splayed fingers and he steps in without hesitation. He takes the gun from Eames and gently shoves him aside as he pokes his head around the corner and fires- fires until the gun is empty and all is quiet.

Eames, sitting on the floor with his legs splayed out and his arms crossed tightly around his middle, growing pale and sallow, forces a small smile around a grimace of pain. "Nice shot," he says, his voice rough and strained.

Arthur nods and licks his lips uncertainly. "Thanks."

Cobb, battling his own projections on the side of the room, catches his gaze then and he hollers to Arthur, ordering him to wake Eames up.

Arthur's eyes widen all over again. He knows what's being asked of him, knows what he's going to have to do to this man that he's supposed to be working with, a man that's a relative stranger, and for a moment, and a moment only, he doubts his ability to go through with it because all of this is just so _crazy._

"_Now Arthur!" _

"Go ahead."

Arthur's head snaps back to Eames, who's somehow still smiling as if he's amused by the whole thing, and he just nods as he reaches into his coat to produce the Glock that's nestled beneath the fabric. His hand trembles as he lifts it but a simple nod of encouragement from Eames is all it takes to still it.

Pushing any and all doubts from his mind, reminding himself that this is all just a dream, he closes his eyes and fires off the shot.

II.

They've missed the kick. The music has faded away and they're still dreaming, Eames is at fault and Arthur is furious. He heaves a heavy sigh as he cards a hand through his hair, still slightly mussed in the places where Eames had been running his fingers through it just moments before.

"Damn it," he swears, turning on his heal to glare at Eames through his narrowed eyes.

Eames, the bastard, just smirks in return- lips red and swollen and shiny with spit. "Arthur," he drawls. "You've really got to learn how to relax, pet."

Arthur sets his jaw, and he wants to tell Eames to shut up and that he isn't his pet but his heart beat is still a little erratic and his stomach is still fluttery (and they do have more important things to worry about) so he figures that maybe there'd be a better time to discuss that.

"Let's get out of here."

Eames winds an arm around his waist, settling his palm over the curve of Arthur's hip and his breath is wet and hot against the shell of his ear as he leans in and whispers, "what's the rush? I kind of like it here."

Arthur shudders, and then tries to pass it off as one of disgust as he places a hand on Eames' chest and pushes him back. "Now isn't the place, Mr. Eames."

"Mm, that's not what you said a few minutes ago," he retorts, referring to the heated and sloppy and clumsy bump of the lips that had been their first kiss.

Arthur wiggles away from his grasp and begins heading up the stairs of the building that lead to the roof, Eames hot on his heels. They don't speak or acknowledge each other as they walk to the edge of the roof but right before Arthur steps forward, Eames takes his hand and holds it tightly within his own, giving it a small squeeze.

The action makes Arthur flush but it's not unpleasant so he just lets it go, turning his head to hold Eames' gaze as they step off the edge together.

III.

Cobb needs to get this under control, Arthur realizes, and he needs to do it now.

Their job was supposed to be simple. They have an uncomplicated mark with an uncomplicated mind and they should have been in and out without any problems at all.

But Mal is there, looking as lovely as she did in life- all ethereal grace and beauty with a glint of malice in her pretty blue eyes that looks more than a little out of place- and Mal is complicating things.

Everything is at a standstill, or a stand-off, depending on how you want to look at it, and Mal has Eames locked in her grip and there's a knife to his throat, silver shining against the tan of his skin. His gaze is locked on Arthur's and Arthur's on him and neither one of them is paying much attention to anything but each other- only half listening to the wafting sounds of her soft voice, crooning heinous and awful things that just sound wrong in the gentle lilt of her accent.

Arthur knows it's all a dream and that Eames is actually going to be alright but that doesn't stop him from wanting to do something. Scramble across the table and pull Eames away, shoot her, shoot Dom for dreaming her up, shoot the security that's holding him back- _anything. _

Mal laughs huskily and Eames visibly flinches when the blade digs in a little too hard, hard enough to draw blood, and Arthur just loses it and begins to struggle and he doesn't care how suspicious it looks and he doesn't care that his actions are blowing their cover because this is _Eames_.

She looks amused by this and her eyes twinkle as she nicks him again. "Arthur?" she coos, sounding very much like her old self. Like the real Mal. "Am I upsetting you?"

His gaze flickers to Eames, who gives him nothing but a tender look, one that says _it'll be okay_.

Mal's lips curve into a wicked smile and her hand makes one swift motion and Arthur quickly turns his head away, telling himself over and over again that it's just a dream.

IV.

It's real, all of it, and Arthur is so paralyzed with fear and disbelief that he can barely breathe.

His legs feel heavy as he rushes forward, sort of like they've been replaced with lead. He drops to the ground besides Eames, eyes wide and panicked as he takes in the bullet wound on the left side of his chest. "Daniel?" he breathes, giving him a gentle shake. And then another. And then another and then finally, _finally _Eames' eyes open, bleary and unfocused.

"Arthur?"

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah. It's me."

Eames turns his head with a grimace and just the very corner of his mouth curves into a small, fleeting smile. "Hey."

Arthur presses his hand to his chest, trying to ignore the warm and wet feeling of the blood that's spreading out across his palm. "Cobb's getting help," he tells him, trying to apply as much pressure as he can. "Stay with me."

"Mm."

"Eames!"

His eyes snap back open and he groans with the effort of keeping them that way. "'S no use," he grumbles, low and hoarse, telling them both what they already know.

But Arthur's not standing for that. "It is," he whispers back frantically. "It is." He bows his head and presses his lips to Eames' but he only lingers for a moment because everything about it feels wrong- too cold and too coppery, tainted by the faint taste of blood. "It is because I love you, Daniel. _I love you."_

Eames chuckles, more of a wheezy breath than anything, and does his best to smile. "Since when?"

Arthur cups his cheek in his hand, tenderly stroking his clammy skin with the pad of his thumb. "Forever," he breathes. "Since the first time we met. You had on those mustard colored pants and you looked so ridiculous. Do you remember that? They were hideous but you… you were so suave and smug and I knew right away."

"They weren't hideous," Eames interjects weakly.

"They were. But you looked so good in them," Arthur admits, trying to hold his waning attention the best that he can. "I loved you anyway."

Eames blinks a few times, trying to focus his vision, and nudges his head against Arthur's thigh. "Love you too, you know," he tells him, and Arthur can't help wanting to tell him to shut up because this isn't how they should be saying this for the first time. They should be curled up in a bed together somewhere, legs and feet intertwined, all warm and safe and Arthur should have his head resting on Eames' chest and Eames' fingers should be playing with his hair. Their words should be soft whispers and come with soft kisses and they should be able to laugh and touch and play.

But they can't because they're on the cold concrete floor of a warehouse downtown and Eames has been shot by a rival extractor who, apparently, has had a price on his head for years and Eames is _dying_- dying right in Arthur's arms and there's nothing he can do.

He's seen this happen one too many times but it seems so surreal to see Eames, the man who can escape anything and who's like an infallible light that never goes out, sprawled out on the concrete with his blood pooling beneath him. He's surreal because it_ is_ real and Arthur knows that the minute he's gone, he's gone and there'll be no kick to bring him back.

So he leans down and kisses Eames again, trying to make up for everything he'd never said or done and for all the things he's never going to be able to say or do.

"I know," he whispers against his lips. "I know you do."

"Always," Eames whispers back.

Arthur nuzzles his nose against his and presses kisses all over his face and then a final one to his lips, inhaling the last shudder of a breath that Eames exhales into the space between them.

He's grown still. Cold. The light is gone, forever put out, and it takes everything in Arthur to remind himself that this time, it isn't a dream.


End file.
